


Its all Peter's fault. Scott, you ass, Stop laughing.

by stillirise



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: M/M, but be gentle its my first time, no seriously don't read this cause i chickened out before the actual smut, what did you think I meant?, would really love feedback, writing smut of course
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-16
Updated: 2015-09-07
Packaged: 2018-04-13 15:21:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 3,611
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4527198
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/stillirise/pseuds/stillirise
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life's a bitch, especially when you can't stop fantasizing about your mortal enemy bending you over a desk and making you scream. How is this his life?</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, I was whining to my friend, talking about how I could never write as good porn as everyone else. They just shrugged saying porn was porn and tried to recommend me a link and I was like dude I can read porn, but I can't watch it. Then, they boast that they could write porn if they so desired and I was all snippy like good for you, but that doesn't help me. Then, they were all stop pussyfooting around and write the goddamn porn, and I was like how, and they were all like I'm gonna give you bad advice in hopes that you let this shit drop, and so I starting saying as if I was typing it stuff like his meatstick drove wildly into her buttercup. They just stared at me and said are you fucking kidding me. I'm like Steve Rogers sometimes in terms of innocence and purity, so I just said in my most earnest tone should I say that his terminator dove into her flower. My friend is just walks out of the room, exclaiming how they are done with me, just done. When they leave, I'm like cackling my ass off and then pondering to myself dammit, how do I write porn, I still don't know how. So, you know... this came out. Then, I chickened out. Then, I was gonna delete it. Now, I'm posting it, so yep. I'm posting this. No regrets. Ok. A little regret, but just like a tiny bit. I'm just gonna lie now. No regrets.

_"Stiles," the voice, that voice, sighs, giving his bare ass an affectionate pat. Stiles twitches, but doesn't answer. He can't._

_"Did you do this yourself?" Peter asks, voice pleased. That smug ass piece of shit asks the stupid question, cradling Stiles head in one hand, lazy smirk on his face. "Did you wrap yourself up like a pretty little present? Hmm. I can't say I'm shocked though. You were made for this, made for my cock, always presenting yourself like a naughty little bitch in heat. Don't worry, pet. I'll give you what you want."_

_He's reminding Stiles that its his choice. Its always Stiles' choice. He's the one that goes to Peter's house, seeks Peter out, is a moaning mess for Peter._

_Peter wants him to beg, wants him to take ownership over the fact that its Stiles, not Peter, that can never stay away._

_Stiles wants to bite him for that, wants to muster up the will to get off the bed, to storm out and tell him that he doesn't need this, that he doesn't need Peter for anything, much less to get off._

_He doesn't though. He wouldn't have been fooling anyone with that display, not even himself._

_Instead, he just locks the appendage between his lips, swirling his tongue. He hums and grins a shit eating grin as Peter's eyes darken further._

_Oh yeah. Stiles might want this, but Peter needs this. He needs to control someone, but he needs someone that knows how to handle his little mind games and match him step for step._

_Peter doesn't like that grin and demonstrates that by-_

"Stilinski!" Mr. Harris barks and Stiles jerks upright, slamming one hand on the desk, "42!"

There's a ring of laughter and Stiles can feel his cheeks redden.

Scott isn't laughing yet, but he's smirking and somehow that makes things worse.

"This is not math class, Mr. Stilinski," Mr. Harris says, "Detention."  

 _C'mon, Scott_ , he tries to send out through their bro connection,  _You're supposed to have my back._

 _Not my fault,_ Scott insists, _You wouldn't wake up._

 _Then, throw something at my head,_ Stiles glares. 

And Scott slaps both hands over his mouth as trying to muffle his howl of laughter. He makes a gesture  by tapping his cheek,  _I did._

Stiles feels the pencil attached to his cheek, feels the dried drool near his mouth, and he wants to die.

No, seriously.

Him jumping out that window sounds like a really good idea right about now or maybe he'll stab himself with the pencil.

Hey, don't look at him like that. 

Things that sharp can kill.

He tries to bury his face in the desk.

He can still hear Scott howling like a hyena and casually, without looking up, flips the traitorous fucker off.

"Fuck my life," Stiles said, slamming his head on the desk repeatedly. Maybe, he'll get a concussion and need serious enough medical attention that he'll never had to set foot in Beacon Hills High School ever again.

_Fuck my life._

 

 


	2. Chapter 2

Warnings: ageplay, daddy kink

* * *

 

_Stiles leans forward. He rests a hand to hold the back of Peter's head, to reach out and tug his hair. He loves playing with Peter's hair especially when Peter declares that they don't have to wear shirts that day. He doesn't know why. It just feels right._

_Peter makes a sound, almost like a growl and Stiles doesn't register the significance at first, because soon enough, he can feel Peter back him into the bed, nipping Stiles hard on the neck._

_Stiles makes a pained noise, feeling oddly sensitive. But its a nice pleasurable pain. "Its okay, baby. Let me take care of you," Peter makes a soothing noise, pressing his lips to Stiles in a soft kiss and swirling his tongue to soothe the wound._

_He can feel Peter insert himself between Stiles thighs and make an odd jerking motion that makes Stiles gasp. "Daddy?" Stiles asks, tentatively. His voice  sounds so uncertain. "Daddy, I feel weird."_

_Peter pulls back, and Stiles wants to whine. The ache is gone cause Daddy's gone and he sort of liked that, maybe._

_"Don't you trust me, baby? Doesn't Daddy know how to make you feel good?" Daddy asks, and Stiles hates how disappointed he sounds because Stiles is supposed to trust daddy. Of course he trusts Daddy._

_Stiles just nods, nervously sticking his thumb in his mouth._

_"I need a verbal response," Daddy snapped and Stiles mumbles through the side of his that was still teething on his thumb, "Yes, Daddy."_

_Daddy instantly softens and starts nuzzling at him, and Stiles giggles since the hair sort of tickles, dropping his thumb. "That tickles, but its good."_

_"You know, baby boy, Daddy will always make you feel good," Daddy breathes, and daddy slides himself back in between the middle of Stiles thighs. Oh. Yeah, Stiles decides, almost surprised, that does feel nice. Daddy makes that same jerking motion and Stiles gasps and moans, "What are we doing, Daddy? Are we playing a game?"_

_"Yes," his daddy purrs, "It called horsey. You just rock your hips back in forth, yeah baby boy, just like that."_

_Stiles keeps rocking, but he wants to whine, wants to cry. He's missing something. He feels all sweaty and achey and it isn't enough. It isn't enough. "I like this game." He moves his body faster, harder, and oh oh oh, he likes that. He wants Daddy to do it again and again and again, but then Daddy holds his hips down, forces Stiles to slow his rocking, crooning, "Easy, baby. Easy. Slow down."_

_Stiles feels a stinging burn of shame and almost sobs in distress, "I can't." He hides his face in Daddy chest, teethes at Daddy's soft nipples. Daddy makes a weird almost choking noise. So, Stiles stops at once. He doesn't want to hurt Daddy._

_"I don't like this game, Daddy," Stiles huffs, trying to rock faster, but Daddy won't let him. He sobs, a very distressed sound, leaning up to bury his face in Daddy's neck in a movement so quick that Daddy stumbles to catch Stiles, squeezing and palming at Stiles bum. "Its not enough," Stiles rants, red and frustrated, while panting and moaning in Daddy's ear, "Daddy, its not enough."_

_"You're such a spoiled brat," his daddy says, and his voice is not really mean but teasing, "I know its not enough. Its never enough for you, baby boy. You're always aching for more and more, but what if I can't give you more? What if I leave you like this... a puddle of frustration? Do you want me to sooth that ache? Would you like me to touch you in your no no spots? Or what if I don't want to sooth the ache? What if I don't know if I can satisfy such a come slut like you?"_

_Stiles doesn't understand most of those words, but he understands that enough to know that Daddy isn't giving him what he needs. "Then what do we do?" Stiles said, wailing._

_His Daddy pulls back and he looks at Stiles, and he looks so very hungry. It makes Stiles want to cross his arms and huff. Daddy shouldn't be wanting to leave Stiles to go eat. He should be helping Stiles get rid of the achey feeling down there._

_"Do you trust me baby boy?" Daddy asks, eyes dancing._

_"Yes," Stiles hisses, when Daddy pinches him, twisting his nipple and Stiles jerks his hips forward automatically._

_"Yes, what?" Daddy asks flatly, dropping Stiles down on the bed._

_Stiles bounces impatiently, "Yes, daddy."_

_Daddy looks satisfied._

_"Take off your shorts, baby boy," Daddy purrs, smirking as Stiles frantically rushes to obey. "Your little robin boxers too. Turn around. Get on your hands and knees. Beautiful, baby boy. You're perfect... just perfect spread out like this, ass in the air, presenting yourself so well. God, you're such the perfect little slut and I'm gonna ruin you, boy. I'm gonna fucking wreck you."_

There was a loud beeping sound and Stiles jerked upright. He clutched his covers to his chest, heart beating frantically in his chest. He was panting, hot and heavy from the dream. He widened his eyes in dismay, torn between horror and arousal, "Oh. My. God."

 


	3. Chapter 3

Author's Notes: Honestly, I didn't think I'd [continue](http://archiveofourown.org/works/4587486/chapters/10471638#) this story. Anyways, I need a little help. This is part one of Stiles' fantasy, but I got stuck for lack of the better term. I need more dialogue and inspiration, so feel free to comment, rec, or give a line of dialogue or appealing smutty action. TheBlueMenace brought up a good point. Ok. Everything in italics is a flashback to remind the reader that this is negotiated non-consent between Peter and Stiles. So, it highlights that this a rape fantasy and not actual rape. For chapter one and two, everything in italics is a dream sequence. None of it actually occurred in reality.

Warnings: Rape Fantasy

* * *

**Dream Sequence:**

Peter wakes, but he doesn't move. He doesn't even twitch. He just lies there, feigning slumber. 

"You can stop faking, Creeper-Wolf," Stiles says, loading up the gun with a sharp click, "Or I'll just put you down for real, now that you're pissing me off." 

"I'm always pissing you off," Peters says, dryly, sitting up slowly. The chains make a faint jingle. Peter's voice is steady. He's trying for boredom, but Stiles can see the way his eyes flick nervously to the gun, recognizing it out of the Argent family vault. "However, it has never been to such a provocative level that you'd try to torture me." He's voice turns amused, "Tell me, Stiles. What would Scotty think?"

 There was a loud boom. Peter ducked away almost too sluggishly, almost too late. His whole body sways back and forth, and Peter visibly struggles to lock his eyes too Stiles. Once that is accomplished, Peter stays in one place and then blinks dazedly as the sticky redness from his right ear trickles down the side of his face.

Stiles could feel Peter's sudden realization. 

The wound wasn't healing. 

Stiles smiled, eyes sharp. "Mention Scott again," Stiles said, voice light and conversational as if he hadn't just shot Peter. His eyes darkened, "I dare you."

Stiles can see a light click in Peter's head, can feel the way it shifts Peter's view of him from nuisance to threat. Its a glorious sight to watch. 

_"So, you want me to hurt you?" Stiles said._

_Peter just raises an eyebrow, as if Stiles was a moron for even asking._

_It Stiles flush, and makes him kind of want to go for another round. Great. Only Stiles could be turned on and humiliated all at the same time. On the second hand, no, it works. Its why he and Peter work. Because god knows there isn't a day that goes by where Peter doesn't set out to humiliate someone.  
_

_"I meant," Stiles coughs, "You're sort of_   _indestructible, dude. I can hurt you all day long, but you're like the wolverine. You'll shake it off like a boss because you'll heal. You'll always heal. So, you playing the role of my little red riding hood is just laughable."_

_"I have a friend," Peter offers, ignoring Stiles sarcastic, "You have friends, Peter. Truly? Not just blackmail victims?"_

_"I have a friend," Peter says, "with a crafty recipe for nightwatch poison."_

_"A magical drug," Stiles says flatly, "that will temporarily block your healing rate, make your emotions heightens, lower your inhibitions, and make your body all sorts of crazy weak because hello you want me to use a fucking magical date rape potion on you."_

_Peter laced his fingers together, leaning his head on his hands, "If you can't supply me with what I need, then I can always find it elsewhere."_

_"Charming," Stiles snorts, before using one hand to yank Peter's face to his, and the other hand to shove Peter back into the chair. Stiles devoured Peter's mouth in his, claiming Peter's repressive moan with a bruising kiss. Then, just as Peter melted into Stiles, Stiles bit his Peter's lip hard. He could feel Peter harden, could feel the way Peter's hips jerked forward. "I can hurt you just fine," Stiles promises, eyes dark and intent, "I just have one little demand."_

 "Well," Peter drawled, "What information do you need? I'd be  _delighted_ to be of assistance." He inclined his head slowly, "If you could release me?"

Stiles laughs, the sound low and dark. It echoed across the room, "If only this," he motioned the gun to Peter's collar with his gun, and then to the chains, "were due to a little information."

Peter stared at him, most likely trying to work out what Stiles was after while at the same time trying to work his way out of the cuffs behind his back. Stiles can feel Peter's strain to do focus.

"So, you've drugged me, just because?" Peter asked, voice mild. Its all sorts of amusing and even a little admirable at how well Peter Hale worked under pressure.

Stiles smiled, stalking closer to Peter.

Peter's eyes flickered briefly to the gun, and Stiles smile widened. 

 "Oh, I have a reason, Peter," Stiles said, softly. Stile lifted the gun and trailed it down Peter's face, watching the way the man stilled under the cold metal steel. "And if you don't tell me what her name is within the next five seconds, then you won't have to worry that pretty little head any further over any thought or any reason."  

"You're not a killer, Stiles," Peter tries to bluff, so Stiles just casually, with one quick movement, backhands Peter with cold hard metal.

Peter's whole head snaps to the side, and Peter lets out a low painful curse.

Stiles makes a impatient sound with his foot.

_Tap. Tap._

After a brief pause, Peter echoed it. 

Stiles caught Peter's head in his free hand, "The clock is ticking and I won't wait forever."

"Lydia," Peter practically spits, eyes flashing blue.

_"Two taps or a color from me should be like asking if your okay with what's happening. If you say green or make two taps, then we can continue. Three taps from you or the color yellow means slow down. One single tap from you or the color red should mean stop. Oh and you still need to pick a safe word. Got it?"_

_"Must you always plan to excruciating detail?" Peter asked, "Shouldn't we even leave the plotting outside of the teenager's hands?"_

_Stiles didn't look up from his book, chewing on the back of his pencil. "Ha. Ha. You're hilarious. Are you gonna help or not?"_

_"Well, we can simply do the scene and work from there. I hear practice makes perfect."_

_"Or a one way trip to the ER," Stiles retorted, "So, we need to research everything. Safety, boundaries, plots, and even sex toys."_

_"Hmm. What about shock collars? I'd like to add that to the scene."_

_"How did you get that? That's nowhere in here," Stiles said, flipping through his book._

_"Unfortunately, Stiles, you do not have all of the resources at your disposal," Peter said, dismissively, throwing the book at Stiles which he stumbled to catch._

_Stiles spun in his chair, facing Peter, and stabbing his pen accusingly at Peter, "No fair, you kinky bastard. You've been holding out on me. Why isn't this in these BDSM books? Where the did you find this?"_

_"I do have my own personal collection," Peter purred and Stiles looked away because he yeah, he was pretty sure that his mind was totally betraying him and had completely misread that tone. After all, it was Peter who was enforcing the no-sex-until-you-fulfill-my-extremely-kinky-fantasy-rule. "We could even add more variety to the scene. Perhaps anal beans, suspension, flame play, gun play, and other interesting ideas. These little gems would add wonders to setting the scene."_

_He tapped it to his lips thoughtfully, "So, you're saying the you want to go all out. The more hardcore, the better."_

_"Exactly," Peter said, and there was such satisfaction in there that Stiles wasn't suspicious, but embarrassingly turned on, "The better the pain, the better the pleasure." Did Peter always sound like something straight out of porno, the good kind, or was it just him?_

_"Lydia," Stiles blurted out, without thinking._

_Then, he blinked._

_Wait._

_What?_

_Peter's eyes narrowed, displeased, "What?"_

_Hey! Stiles wasn't an unfaithful, well, whatever the fuck he was to Peter._

_"Plot," Stiles blabbed, "Ideas, um, the scene. I could kidnap you and like torture you and stuff, well, if you want. But I need motivation, you know. That's where Lydia comes in. I mean you've done some really messed up shit and made her all kinds of out of control. Not that I blame you know, of course, but I did at one point in time."_

_"So, you'll take control of me to show how it feels," Peter's annoyance shifted to amusement._

_Stiles just hummed, turning away to grab another book. "Uh huh," Stiles voice cracked, embarrassingly, "That's it, exactly."_

_Stiles can feel Peter's eyes drill into him. In a wondering tone, Peter muses, "The way your mind work fascinates me. Sometimes, I picture cracking your lovely skull, unspooling your brain, trying to get answers."_

_"What the hell kind of comment is that?" Stiles turned his head, and wow._

_Peter was right there, their faces not very far apart. Shut up, brain, Stiles tries to frantically cling to, no sexy times allowed. So, don't even go there._

_"You know you're such a creeper," Stiles said, voice dry, trying to keep calm and normal, but his heart was pounding like crazy out of his chest. "Ever heard of personal space? Its like a serious thing, almost an unspoken sacred rule."_

_Peter had his head cock to the side, his eyes studying Stiles in interest, before leaning closer, and holy shit, Peter was really close. "Stiles, what have I taught you about rules?" he said, voice chiding, eyes dancing almost flirtatiously._

_Stiles didn't answer, no snarky retort because Peter was inching even closer._

_Stiles could feel Peter's breath tickle his face, could smell peppermint coming off from the older man. It made want to lean closer, want to reach out and taste._

_"Well, maybe you'll remember later and tell me," Peter drawled as he plucked the book from Stiles hands and was on the other side of the room in an instant._

_Stiles closed his eyes and took a very deep breath. Then, he went back to work. He was in for a very long day._

"Very good, creeper-wolf," Stiles praises, letting the werewolf go. "Its almost like you're learning to be a good little mutt for me. Maybe, some day you'll even be worthy of the collar you wear."

Peter's eyes flashed blue once more, before he shook his head as if to clear his murky thoughts. Stiles didn't let his worry show, disguising his concerned appraisal of Peter's skull, with a condescending rub to the mutt's head. Peter seemed disoriented, but fine. 

"You can't keep me here, Stiles," Peter said, and Stiles can tell he's going for a calm and reasonable tone. But Peter has a naturally soft voice, and it always sounds either untrustworthy, menacing, or even a little seductive. 

Stiles reaches forward with his free hand, and presses the collar. 

Peter's eyes widen. His whole body jerks and spasms. In the aftershocks, Peter no longer looks disoriented and fuzzy, but angry and panicked. He rises, chains and all, and jerks to move away from Stiles. He makes a movement to leave, to get the hell away, but he can't do that because Stiles isn't the one that's been drugged. Stiles in't the one with the slowed reflexes. Stiles isn't the one that terrified out of his mind and running on barely useless adrenaline. 

Stiles tackles Peter to the ground, getting his arm around Peter. Peter wheezes as Stiles chokes him with strength of his left arm around his throat, still struggling and still fighting. It'd be admirable if it didn't just piss Stiles off even more.

Briefly, Stiles loosened the tight hold. "Why Peter, don't you look a little red?" Stiles asked, because shit, shit, shit, Peter didn't look good. Was this okay? He really needed a color.

Peter scoffed, "I'm not as green as your little doll is. Lydia never even bothered to put up a good fight."

Stiles jerked them both upright, to their feet, and forced a little more pressure on Peter's throat. "Stand down," Stiles said, lowly, letting the gun make sharp audible click as he pressed it into the side of Peter's temple. Stiles could barely recognize himself, a low thrum of adrenaline and anger coursing through his system. 

Peter does so, slowly, and Stiles laughs again, that dark and low sound becoming familiar. "That's right," Stiles says, half-mad. He ground his cock into Peter's ass, letting Peter feel him, "I'm in control. I'm in control, and you're not. So, don't you fucking move." Stiles makes a quick movement with his feet, and Peter falls to his knees as Stiles remains standing behind him. 

"Well, well. Would you look at that?" Stiles lets out a low whistle, "The great Peter Hale is down on his knees for me. That's great. No, that's awesome. I mean, you have no idea how much I've waited for you to humble yourself like this."

"Are you satisfied with humiliating me?" Peter asked, "Are you done with your little power trip?"

 "Oh, Peter," Stiles said, taking a step forward, "I haven't even started."

**End Part 1 of Dream Sequence.**

 


End file.
